


High and Dry

by FluffyBeaumont



Category: Line of Duty (TV 2012)
Genre: First Time, Kissing, M/M, May/December Relationship, Police, Touching, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyBeaumont/pseuds/FluffyBeaumont
Summary: Set in Series 1 of Line of Duty: Steve, beset on all sides by failure, informs his colleagues that he's done, but Ted isn't satisfied and goes to find him. He has to remind Steve of not only how much he's missed, but of how much he himself will be missing if he goes AWOL for good.
Relationships: Steve Arnott/Ted Hastings
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	High and Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from the scene where Hastings finds Steve in the cemetery.

"So this is where you've been." The quiet voice caught him by surprise, and Steve turned to see his gaffer, Ted Hastings, dressed in a suitably sober dark coat and trousers. "I wondered where you'd got to."

"Sir." Hastings was the last person Steve wanted to see. He thought he'd made it clear he was done with AC-12. He hadn't hesitated when he'd sent the text. It was highly irregular for Hastings to disregard it, even more so for his boss to come looking for him. "He's been lying in the morgue for two weeks, poor bastard." He nodded at the hearse as it passed by. "All because of me."

"You can't keep blaming yourself for that," Hastings said quietly. He was standing close behind Steve, close enough to touch him, but he didn't. Or rather, he did, but with the undisguised warmth in his voice and his physical nearness. He was the sort of man you instinctively put your trust in, a man to whom you told your secrets. You could tell him anything and he would never sit in judgment of you, because he'd made mistakes himself, and he understood.

"I can, though. It's me..." He drew a slow breath. "The Fahrenheit order. That was all me, wasn't it?"

"Steve, are you all right?" Hastings moved around so he was looking Steve in the eye. "Because you don't look all right and if you'll forgive me, son, I don't think you should be alone right now."

"Sir?" Steve was confused. "I'm hardly your responsibility. I mean..." He searched Hastings' features for some clue to the situation. "I did a runner, sir. I told you I was done."

"I think you need a stiff one," Hastings said.

Steven's eyes widened. "Sir?"

"A drink, DS Arnott. A drink." Hastings gestured back towards the parking lot. "Come on."

The small pub was crowded with office workers drenching their palates after the end of a long day, everyone chattering and laughing, calling greetings to each other. Hastings pushed his way politely through the crowd, a pint in each hand. He arrived at the small table where Steve waited, near the back end of the pub, and laid the pints down. "Like Belfast Central in here today." He sank into his chair and applied himself to his pint, then sat back, sighing with pleasure. "That hits the spot, doesn't it?"

"It does. Thank you, sir." Steve sipped at his own pint, realised too late that he looked like a squeamish schoolgirl. "It's...listen, sir, I appreciate you coming to find me and all."

"Son, I don't think you quite understand," Hastings said, and there was steel in his voice. "You taking off the way you did, it's left Kate and me high and dry."

Steve couldn't meet his gaze. "I'd no other choice, sir. You're better off without me in the equation."

"Is that self-pity I'm hearing?" Hastings laid one hand flat on the table, palm down. "Not like you, Steve. I know you--"

Steve's dark eyes snapped with sudden anger. "With respect, sir, you don't know me at all. You've no idea what I'm like."

Hastings gazed at him calmly. "Oh, I think I've some idea."

"Really?"

"You hold yourself to a high standard, and when you don't meet that standard, you're very hard on yourself. Something goes wrong, and you blame yourself. You blame yourself and you punish yourself until you can make it right. You take serious risks to make it right and you don't give up." The hand on the table was withdrawn. "Did I get at least some of that correct?"

"Yes, sir." He pushed away the pint. "Sir, it's really noisy here and it's doing my head in. Do you think we could move this to somewhere else?"

Hastings nodded, smiling. "All right. Come on."

They drove to Steve's flat and went up together in the lift, standing side by side, silent. At the fifth floor, the lift bumped to a stop and the doors opened, Hastings gesturing to Steve that he should exit first. Their feet made no sound on the thick carpet, Hastings following close behind, shadowing Steve, close enough to touch but not touching. Steve stopped at the door and turned to face him, the key in his hand. "Is it...is it all right, sir?" Hastings nodded, and Steve moved in, laid his palm against Hastings' chest. "It's all right, isn't it?"

Hastings captured Steve's hand and held it. "Yes, son. It's all right."

Inside, Steve was suddenly at a loss. The flat was cozy and beautifully decorated in dark, masculine shades of grey and cobalt blue, accented with wood and stone. "Come in." He grinned. "Sorry, sir. You're already in." He tilted his head in the direction of a bar, set against the wall. "Fetch you a drink?" The tension between them was such that it was almost a sentient entity, palpable, throbbing with its own discrete life. He'd felt it the first time he'd ever met Hastings, understood that this complex, obscurely attractive man interested him a great deal. Hastings was no fool; he had to feel it himself, had to know what lay between them.

"I don't want a drink," Hastings said quietly. "But you already know that."

"Wh--" Steve's mouth was dry; he couldn't get the word out. He swallowed hard, licked his lips. "What do you want?"

Hastings moved in close, swayed towards him and caught hold of the collar of Steve's coat. His warm breath ghosted over Steve's cheek as he bent close, and the hand that had hold of his collar moved to stroke Steve's face. "You know what I want, son. I reckon you want it as well." He brushed Steve's lower lip with the ball of his thumb, smiled when the young man groaned. "Yes, you do want it."

The kiss was tentative at first, a simple brush of Hastings' open mouth against his own, then Steve pressed close, deepening the kiss, the tip of his tongue slipping between Hastings' parted lips. The older man pulled away, gazing down at him fondly. "God forgive me, Steven, but I could keep this going all night long, and I think we'd best put a pin in it for now."

"Oh Christ," Steve said, "are you trying to kill me?" He slid his palms up Hastings' chest, linking his hands behind his neck. "I want this and so do you. I don't see why--"

Hastings grinned. "Have you never heard the phrase, 'hunger is the best sauce'?" He captured Steve's mouth in a searing kiss that made him shudder and filled his cock with hot blood. "Someday, very soon, we'll look at the possibility of consummating this. But for now..." He slid a hand down to cup the bulge at Steve's crotch. "Very nice. I look forward to it."

"Ohhhh...." He captured Hastings' hand and held it there, thrilling to the myriad tiny shocks of pleasure that shivered through him. "Can't come soon enough for me, sir."

"It will come." Hastings' soft Irish brogue burred against his ear. "And so will you, but not yet." He turned to go.

"Sir." Steve was practically whimpering, and he should have been ashamed, but he wasn't. "You do realise you're leaving me high and dry?"

Hastings glanced back over his shoulder. "You'll survive," he said.

"Not sure I will, sir," Steve murmured, but Hastings was already gone.


End file.
